


Healing.

by patchesc137



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Battle, Blood, F/M, Fluff, War, everyone lived Hooray, immortal human, the "i'm going to patch you up and tell you i'm in love with you" trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:43:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchesc137/pseuds/patchesc137
Summary: Reader is an immortal healer, and helps Thorin after the battle.





	Healing.

**Author's Note:**

> Amrâlimê is supposed to mean "my love". Enjoy.
> 
> (ps i take requests @patches-c137 on tumblr oxo )

You never meant to love anyone. To get close to anyone. You had been recruited for this quest only because of your healing abilities. That was all. You’d been alive to see most of the rise and fall and rise again of Middle Earth. You’ve lost many you’ve loved on the way. It’s the recent century that decided for you that you would no longer give your heart out to anyone, because you knew you would simply outlive whoever won it from you. At the beginning of this journey, you had no intention of becoming friendly with the dwarves. But it seems that the universe had different ideas for you.

It’s finally over. The war, the journey. And perhaps the kingdom would need much care, much cleanup, but that’s something for the future. For now, you make your way through the company, checking on each one, helping with bandages, doing simple stitching of skin. You’re close with them, now. It was something that couldn’t be helped. These were men you could, and would, call friends. You stop to kneel down alongside Bilbo, watching him watch the debris settle into the lands around you.

“Is it really over?” he asks, as if he can’t believe that it is. And honestly, neither could you, as you wiped blood from his brow with one cool thumb. You’d been through so much. You all were changed. But you all had lived, and that was something to be proud of.

“It really is,” you assure him after a moment, patting him on the shoulder before standing once more. He looks to protest, but you give him a comforting smile. “I’ll be back. I’m going to check on the King,”

A knowing gleam seems to sparkle in his eyes. “Will you finally tell him?” When your head tilts in confusion, he sighs. “That you love him, Y/N,”

Your laugh is a flittery one. Cheeks grow warm despite the breeze. “I don’t-”

“Oh, don’t try to deny it now,” Bilbo takes a moment to stand, wincing at the pressure in his leg before he moves to look up at you. “The only ones who can’t see it are you and Thorin. And that’s because you’re both as stubborn as they come,”

How absurd. What a notion. You are not stubborn. You do not love… Eyes of blue flash in your mind, crinkled with the smallest of smiles below, on dampened lips. There was a moment, before you were all to fight his kingdom, that he leaned his forehead against yours in the privacy of a rounded corridor. A rather out of character sentiment that you hadn’t been expecting. Surprise or not, however, you closed your eyes and leaned heavily against him, one hand at the back of his neck, fingers intertwining into his hair.

“If I do not live to see the end of this, I want you to know how fond I’ve grown of you,” Thorin is still looking at you when you open your eyes, genuine sparkle deep in icy blues. One of his hands move to grip something from his pocket, handing it to you with rough fingers. “If I do see the end, then give this back to me then,”

Thorin would pull away without another word, and without you having to say a single thing. When he walks toward Kili to give reassurance, you open your palm to find a large, golden bead, engraved with markings of old, ones you recognized. You hold it preciously, keeping it snug in your inside breast pocket before picking up your axes.

Adorned in armor, the battle begins shortly there after. It’s close- you see Thorin thrown, stabbed, almost defeated by the Pale Orc, but he does not prevail. Thorin Oakenshield overthrows his enemy and only falls to the ground when the Orc tumbles off the icy cliff. It’s you and Dwalin who lift Thorin and take him to the tent, lying him down on the cot to rest. Your hands give a dim glow, eyes closed as you move them over his wounds. The king is unconscious for this. If you had not almost seen him perish, you would think him peaceful. Oin asks for your assistance with patching the other’s, and though you are reluctant to leave Thorin’s side, Dwalin convinces you to go, saying that he would come to you as soon as he was awake.

Before you stopped to speak with Bilbo, that is what Dwalin had done. The hobbit now watches you hesitate, smile soft on his lips.

“Go to him,” he murmurs. “And tell him,” this part is stern, a finger pointed at you. “Or one of us will,”

You cover your mouth as you laugh, kissing your friend’s cheek and assuring him that you would be back to check on him. Turning, you strode for the tent, hand hesitating on the space’s opening. Part of you wanted to leave and never return. Leave a note explaining why you could not love him. Why he should not love you. It would be painful, knowing Thorin could die and you could never. Instead, you stepped inside, making your appearance known.

“May I come in?”

Eyes open slowly, his head turning toward you. His bottom half is covered by a sheet, the top, in nothing but a bandage across his chest, to make up for your dwindled strength, after taking care of so many of the injured. You swear he is smiling, but it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the tent.

“You may,”

You step in without another word, first clasping the tent shut before making your way toward his bed, hands already glowing with anticipation. “It seems I’ve gotten my full power back,” All you needed was a short rest. Thorin tries to sit up, but you push him back down with little force. “I’m going to remove the bandage,”

You pluck up the gauze at the right corner, slowly stripping his skin of it, careful not to pull too much of the thick, black hair on his chest. The scar has already started to settle, and she frowned. “I can heal it to finish, but I’m afraid the scar won’t go away,”

Thorin chuckled, wrapping his hand around your wrist. “I’m not concerned with it. You already saved my life. A scar is no matter to me,”

There’s a long moment where neither of you say anything. In that long pause, his hand moves, turns, until his fingers lock with yours. A perfect fit. You stare at them in soft wonder, watching his thumb move back and forth against your skin.

“Almost dying has made you soft, Thorin Oakenshield,”

Another chuckle, rumbling from his stomach. “Only for you,” eyes travelled up to yours. You wonder if he would be acting like this if the others were around. It doesn’t occur to you, right away, that he loves you. “Do you still have the bead I gave you?”

One hand remains locked in his. The other reaches into your pocket, pulling out the golden thing with care, showing it to him. “As if I would be so careless as to lose it,”

You hand it back to him, only for Thorin to try to sit up again.

“Thorin, you must-”

“I can sit up,” he interrupts, slowly coming to a sitting position. There is a single and small wince before he looks at you again. “You healed me fairly well. I will be able to walk by tomorrow,”

You can only give him a stern look. You knew he would not listen. Bilbo was right- you were both very stubborn.

You’re prepared to stand. Leave, if he wishes to dress and clean himself. Instead, he reaches up to run a hand through your hair, taking several strands and beginning to braid them together. This is surprising to you. Something you weren’t prepared for.

You sat incredibly still as his fingers worked at your hair, tying the bead at the bottom of the braid before he took his hands away. You missed the feeling almost instantly.

“Do you know of any dwarven customs, Y/N?”

Of course you did. You’d been alive for countless years. The research you’ve done on all races settled deep into your mind. “I do,” you respond shortly, in a quiet voice, watching Thorin with a reluctantly admiring stare.

“Then you know what it means for a dwarrow to braid a dam’s hair,”

“I do,” you say again, but he hears the worry in your tone. Once again, the King takes your hands, his expression adjusting from love to concern.

“I know you feel the same as I do,” his words are so quiet, so soft; just for the two of you. Tears well up in your eyes, because it was true. But there were so many things holding you back. Factors that stopped you from telling him of your love for him many times before. “Why do you run from me?”

You take a deep breath, chest moving with the effort, before you’re able to look at him again. “I will live forever,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat. It’s time to be honest. It’s time to be brave. “And, I… I’ve lived for- so long. I’ve lost so much. Outlived many, Thorin, and I… I don’t think I can bare…”

Tears spill over without permission, and the king is quick to wipe them away. He’s smiling at you. Comforting you. Brushing a hand over your hair, fingering the braid he’s just solidified there. “I want you for as long as I shall live,” he says with sincerity. “Can we not simply love each other for as long as we are able?”

It sounded so easy. But you have been through the heartache before. A love long, long ago, that out aged you in no time at all. Because time means nothing to someone who has an infinite amount of it. However, in this tent, the minutes stretched on. As if you were in your own world. With no such thing as time. You knew, eventually, that you would outlive Thorin, too. But you always knew that you loved him, and you didn’t want to be without him.

Taking one of your hands from his, you brush a thick strand of black hair from his face, leaning toward him to press a loving kiss against his lips. It’s something you’ve longed to do for ages, perhaps since you met the stubborn, prideful man. He has no qualms about kissing you back, entangling bandaged fingers through locks. And you both pull away after a moment, once again touching your foreheads together in a successful attempt at intimacy.

You’re breathless. In love. The idea of long off tragedy is not forgotten, but if Thorin is willing to try, then so should you be.

“You should rest,” you finally say into the quiet tent, kissing him once more before laying him back down, running your fingers against his scarred chest for one last treatment. He seems reluctant to let go of your hand. “I will return when I’m finished checking on the others,”

Thorin lays a chaste kiss on your knuckles before finally letting go. “I look forward to it, amrâlimê,”

You seem to flutter out of the tent, giving the king one last look before clasping the opening back together. Outside, the sun is going down. It’s getting chillier. The dwarves are finally able to move around, helping others, packing anything they can to take back into the kingdom. You find Bilbo in the same spot he was an hour prior, and you sit down beside him, staring out at the setting sun.

“So you told him,” you look at him, and he looks at your braid, the strand blowing slightly in an uptaking wind.

“He told me,” you argued, but shook your head, laughing a little. “He’s convinced me to try,” you settle after a moment, moving your gaze back to the wreckage. You can see Bilbo’s smile from the corner of your eye. Your fingers absentmindedly play with the golden bead, grin dancing on your own lips. “The least we can do is try,”


End file.
